Words and Actions
by lrigD
Summary: Booth is lost, but Brennan helps him to find himself again. Post-Bullet in the Brain.


**_A post Bullet in the Brain-tag, because that episode was simply completely and utterly amazing. _**

**_It is kind of OOC for both Booth and Brennan (although a little less for Booth), but I tried to write from an all-knowing observer point of view with more of a focus on Brennan... if that makes sense._**

**_Enjoy!_**

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He was right where she thought he'd be.

Somewhere inside her, the poetic part of her mused on that. In a way, it was funny how for months, she'd been feeling like she was losing a part of him: but now, with a piece of his past returning, _she_ was the one who understood him best. Because this part of him, the part where he doubted himself and hated his past, _this_ part she knew. This was the part he had shared with her, on quiet long evenings on soft couches, during take-out and baseball games: _this_ was what she knew.

This was what she could deal with.

She didn't see how, as she stood there musing for just a moment, he saw her and his eyes lit up infinitesimally before they dropped back down to regard the dark brown table upon which sat an untouched glass of scotch.

"Booth."

The sound of his name was enough to raise his head, although he didn't attempt to appear surprised. In the semi-darkness of the room he could see her eyes shining as she regarded him.

"Bones," he greeted tiredly.

She flashed back to another evening, sitting on a bench outside of another diner. _Time and space, or just time?_

Without any more words, she slipped beside him on the bench. A part inside of her wondered whether she should ask if he wanted company, but a larger, far more overwhelming part knew that although he might not want it, he needed it. Maybe he had come to the same realization, because he shuffled aside to make room for her, but otherwise didn't say a word.

For a long moment, they sat together in silence. They both looked ahead of them, towards the end of the small booth they were sitting in, and she thought about how even after such a day, after such a lifetime of working together, they didn't need words to communicate.

Somewhere in the course of six years, she'd become finely attuned to him, to his every mood and feeling. She may not be able to know his thoughts and she certainly didn't know how to react to them – but she knew _him_. And she knew that if she stayed silent long enough, he'd talk.

And so she didn't open her mouth, and for the longest time, neither did he. They sat there in silence and she was sure they were quite a sight, but she didn't dare look around. Something was around them, a bubble in which they were safe from the outside world: just them, in this strange, tense silence that fitted them.

Finally, he moved. He picked up his scotch and fingered the edge of the glass.

"Paid for the whole damn bottle, you know." His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and gravelly. He sounded as if he had not spoken for days.

She gently took the glass from him. "You don't want to be drinking that," she told him, equally softly.

He shook his head, but let her take the glass. She set it down firmly, still inside his reach but away from him. Another silence ensued, but it felt more tentative this time. The ice had been broken.

"Two more years." His voice penetrated the silence inside their bubble and she almost turned to look at him. He sounded absolutely miserable and self-loathing and for one irrational moment she hoped that, if she turned her head towards him, she'd see a partner who _wasn't_ miserable and loathing himself.

"Two more years and I'd've ended up just like him." He gave a short, bitter laugh that sounded more like a desperate call for help. "God, Bones, if I hadn't met you…" He didn't finish the sentence, but she knew.

He'd have gambled everything by now. He'd have become a sniper for hire. He'd have done anything for money.

There were endless possibilities for him, for _them_, and he could've taken every road that led to them. One scenario posted a thousand other scenarios.

She was not new to what-if scenarios. She had been replaying them over and over again many times, on many occasions. Sometimes, it seemed as if her life had been one big maze, and every turn could've made her end up somewhere else.

She didn't think Booth would appreciate such words now and as she lightly touched his shoulder, she didn't say anything. Hollow words of comfort would not help this time.

Because somehow, this time it felt much more worse than other times.

This time, it had been _his_ past that had come up. The part of him that he felt most ambivalent about, the part where he _still_ wasn't sure he'd done the right thing. The part that connected so intimately to what he did for a living, and how he viewed the world.

Silence stretched on as she pondered this. Another time, she would have told him that what-if scenarios were not realistic or relevant at all, but at this moment, she felt that logic would not help.

In a move that felt very unlike her, but very much like _them_, she stretched her arm and laid it across his shoulder, pulling him against her slightly. His head shot up, his first movement in a while, and when he turned to look at her, the slightest hint of a smile played around his lips.

He said nothing, and neither did she.

But maybe, in this silence, actions spoke louder than words.

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**_Reviews s'il te plaît? __Must admit I _am_ a bit nervous about this one..._**


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